Brave New World
by Obvious Ghost
Summary: It's tough to be a kid sometimes.


The first week was the worst.

The morning after it happened, he wasn't scared. In fact, it was all... interesting. Compelling. A completely different world to explore- everything he saw, he heard, and explored was brand new. He laughed when people walked through him, grinned when he floated over rivers, and clapped in joy when he flew through walls. Even the spirits, rather than shocking him, filled him with wonder, with their flaring bright colors and incredible displays of flying.

As it always does, night fell.

He still wasn't scared. Scared was when lightning flashed close by, or when he tripped over one of the bigger kids' feet in the hallway, or that one time he got lost on the way home from school. Not when a snarling, red-eyed, glowing dragon was staring him down, waiting for him to move, and he couldn't move, he _couldn't_ move and the monster was just floating and breathing loud and glowing. It glowed so much, so bright, he couldn't even look at anything else, and when the dragon finally turned, distracted, and flew after a smaller spirit, he cried.

He hadn't cried in years. He was eleven, after all. And he wasn't scared. But he was crying, and he still felt like something worse than scared was twisting him up inside, cold and loud and dark and freezing him in place.

There was no point in going anywhere for the night- he couldn't sleep anymore, couldn't even lie down- so he didn't. The sun took a long time to come back up.

The second day, he realized he was invisible. Sure, he could still see everybody, and in a way, they all seemed the same as before- walking or driving or talking to each other. But they never once noticed him. Even before, people hadn't paid him much attention, but now they wouldn't even _look_ at him, like he didn't exist.

The third day, he was alone. He thought floating off on his own, somewhere peaceful and quiet, might help- but it didn't matter. People surrounding him or nothing but the wilderness, it was all the same.

The fourth day, he was weak. He'd tried yelling in their faces, waving his hands, doing anything he could to get their attention, and it had failed. But it was more than that- he couldn't kick leaves off the ground, or let a caterpillar crawl over his hand, or pick up a book and turn the pages. The world itself ignored him.

The fifth day, he was trapped. For all the flying, and moving through walls, he couldn't help remembering what it used to be like. To stand, really stand, in a single place and feel the air moving past. To sit down, or jump, or run, or _anything_ without worrying about floating away, which was starting to feel worse every time, because it wasn't like flying, it was like falling, and he couldn't always stop himself from drifting with the wind.

The sixth day, he _was_ scared. The monsters and their roars, their eyes and scales and teeth, had wormed into his mind- he found himself flinching with every shadow that crossed his path, every movement in the corner of his eye. Even the simple things, dark corners and the occasional rumble of thunder, still filled him with dread. He knew they couldn't hurt him; nothing could hurt him now. But the worse-than-scared was still there, and every day it was getting stronger, sometimes freezing his thoughts until he couldn't move, just like when the first spirit found him. He wanted to be brave, wished more than anything that he could just have courage and be strong and stop worrying. But then another spirit would fly past, and the glow would burn in his vision, and that feeling would grab at his heart again and he would dart away, trying not to cry and trying not to admit: if somebody had to be brave, it wouldn't be him.

The seventh day, he realized he was dead.

...It hadn't really hit him until then. He'd even avoided thinking about the word- with all the distractions, it hadn't made him stop suddenly like it did now. His life was _over_. Everything- every moment he'd ever experienced, good or bad- was finished, and there was literally nothing he could do about it.

Was it supposed to end like this? He dimly remembered hearing about heaven, or reincarnation, or other ideas that seemed distant now. What could even happen next? He couldn't die, obviously, so... what?

Numb, tired, afraid, overcome with impossible questions and thoughts, he wandered down the streets of the town until an abandoned building caught his eye. He wasn't sure why he went in, or why he floated up to the second floor and paused over one of the spare beds, but something about the place made him want to stay. Or... maybe he was just afraid to go back to the streets.

But when the hand dropped through the ceiling, grabbing at his shoulder, the terror flooded him again, and he was halfway across the room before he paused and looked back.

Oddly enough, the feeling from before was dying down, and the hand suddenly looked... uncertain. Lost, even. It hung in the air, a white glove moving nervously from side to side, and his eyes were drawn to a stitched-over tear in the fabric.

Before he knew what he was saying, the words slipped out. "Are you scared too?" he asked quietly.

The hand stopped moving. He slowly floated closer, tentatively reaching out to hold the gloved fingers in his own hand. It flinched, darting backwards, and he froze. "W-wait!"

It paused again, nearly through one of the walls. He blinked quickly, trying not to cry. "Please don't leave."

No response. "I- my name's PJ," he whispered. "I think I'm a ghost."

Floating back, the hand rose until it was at his eye level. He waited in silence, shutting his eyes so tears wouldn't fall, and then-

...The hand was patting him. It gently tapped his head, ruffling his hair, and he felt like he was falling apart. The feeling was still there, trying to keep him afraid of everything, but there was something else, too. Something that felt like a light in a dark room, or a warm blanket on a cold night. It was too much- burying his face in his hands, he sobbed quietly, but the hand stayed where it was, trying to comfort him.

Contact with something alive, even if it was just a hand. It had been a while.

Drying his eyes, he looked up as the hand slowly drifted to the floor. It motioned him forward, then disappeared. When he followed, the hand was already outside, hovering near the front of the store.

A tree stood tall in the yard. He could barely make out a dark form in the higher branches, and the hand seemed to point to it. "What? Why, what's up there?"

Still pointing urgently, the hand swung around to aim at him. "I don't get it," he whispered. "It doesn't even know I'm here, so why would-"

He paused. The hand tilted forward, as if it was nodding. Hesitantly, he floated up past the branches, glancing back down once in a while. The bird didn't move as he approached.

As a ghost, nothing could see him. Anything that would normally run away before he could really look...

He nearly gasped. A fully grown Barn Owl was staring into the night, its black eyes shimmering with the reflected light from a streetlamp. The white, heart-shaped face turned slightly, but otherwise the bird didn't move. From so close, he could see the individual golden-brown markings on its feathers, as well as the curve of its beak and talons.

The owl suddenly took off, flapping its wings quickly and soaring into the sky. He looked up in surprise, then turned when the hand nudged his arm. "Huh? What-" It pointed up, after the departing bird.

For a second, he just stared, a new idea entering his mind. "We... we can _do_ that?" he asked in awe.

The hand just pointed again.

Nervously at first, then gaining speed, he floated upwards. The rooftops and trees quickly passed beneath him, and the entire town was spread out like a painting, but the hand urged him on. He continued, now looking skyward, and the stars seemed closer than ever- thousands of shimmering lights, shining blue and white in the darkness.

Finally, he stopped. Looking down, he couldn't believe his eyes.

The valley was _beautiful_. On both sides, the houses and streetlights formed grids of light and shadows, and the lake in the center reflected the starlight like a mirror. Rivers and roads cut wavering lines across the scenery, while parks and forests, dark and mysterious, stretched over the edges of the town.

And the spirits were everywhere. Every color he could imagine exploded from the creatures' eyes, or from their glowing skin, creating a swirling kaleidoscope of light that blazed brightly, just above the town's buildings. They flew slowly, almost in patterns, seeming less like a group of monsters and more like a calm fire.

Lost in the spectacle, he didn't notice the hand near his head until it flicked his ear. When he turned, it almost looked like the hand was facing the ground. Like it could see the incredible display below.

He was quiet for a second. "Hey, uh... thanks."

Gently, the hand lighted on his shoulder, and PJ gave a small smile.

Maybe being a ghost would end up okay.


End file.
